Perfection, Shall You Shatter?
by with-etoiles
Summary: After breaking down during Hopelessly Devoted to You, Blaine goes to Emma to talk about how he's feeling. Emma feels that it's a very productive session.


_Perfection, shall you shatter?_

A/N: Title from the poem _Perfection_ by C. F. Tinney. So, I saw a post going around that people wanted Blaine to talk to Emma about his problems post the breakup of pain and death, especially in light of how he broke down after Hopelessly Devoted to You and no one pays attention, and I thought, hey! I want that too! I should write it! Fair warning though, there is quite a lot of meta mixed up in this. I just have a lot of thoughts about Blaine. Also, this is the first fic I've written in first person, so I hope it went well!

I was sitting at my desk, reading a tourist magazine when a student came in.

A boy with shining eyes.

I stuttered and slid the brochure I'd been reading under a pile of books on my desk.

"Blaine, how are you?"

He nodded quietly and slid a chair out, the screeching noise jolting me from my thoughts.

He looked like hell, and it broke my heart.

"Well that's not an 'okay'," I said. "Blaine, what's wrong? Why are you here to see me?"

"I think you'd understand," Blaine said slowly, to the floor. "I'm sorry for intruding, and I'm sorry for all of my problems that I'm about to dump on you, but I need someone to talk to."

I laughed, then quickly brought my hand to my mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That was incredibly rude. It's just that you know I'd always love to help you, Blaine."

"Ms. Pillsbury," he began, moving his foot in circles idly across the floor. The noise, rather than disrupt me, seemed to bring me to my senses. There were circles under his eyes. His frame seemed skinnier. He was covering himself up too much, his fingers skittish and his mouth slowly making his words, not wanting to get this wrong. It seemed as if something gaunt hung off his smile, and I felt as if I could reach out and hook it with my pinky a skeleton would hang from my hand. And its smile would be just the same.

He sighed, then started again. "Ms. Pillsbury," he said a little louder. My fingers twitched toward a pamphlet, but I knew that now was not the time to pull one out; paper wasn't going to mend this boy's ragged heart. "You remember Kurt, right?"

"I do. I remember that you guys were very happy together. Is that not the case anymore?"

"No," he answered. Short, succinct, the complete opposite of everything I had come to know of Blaine Anderson.

"Why not?" I asked gently. I relaxed my figure, and leaned towards Blaine. "I'm not going to ignore you or think you're silly, if you're afraid of that."

"No, no, of course I don't think that. It's just… he won't return my calls, and I did something wretchedly horrible, and no one will listen to me." He started talking faster and faster." I sound like a kid, and I hate it. And I feel like a kid, like when I fell off my bike for the first time, and I was so discouraged that I didn't want to continue. But then I did, I pulled myself off the ground. But now I _don't _want to do that, I don't want to do much of anything anymore. And it kills me. And I can't do this anymore, and no one will listen. Why won't anyone listen?"

"Blaine, it's not your fault if no one's listening. It's never your fault, okay? Please remember that for me."

"There is so much tied up in my history," Blaine continued. "And I want so much to cast it all away. But it's almost like… when Kurt broke up with me… it's not just him that makes me want to cry, it's everything else I've done too. Because this is all my fault. Entirely _my _fault. And then I remember that I lost the love of my life, and the urge to cry becomes even worse."

"What did you do, sweetie?" I asked. There was no reaction to my term of endearment. "Why are you two broken up?"

"I cheated on him," he answered immediately. "It was really stupid but I was really lonely and I cheated on him. With a stupid boy that I haven't talked to since and I don't know what I was thinking. To be honest, I'm not thinking much of anything anymore, except for him. It doesn't even matter who it was with, because I don't _care_, and I never did! There is a stupid hole in my heart and I can't mend it for my life and it's all my fault and I don't know why I'm-"

I gently reached out to stop him. "Stop, Blaine. Please. I hate seeing you like this. It's okay to do something wrong you know. You're not perfect."

"But I want to be," he said dejectedly, and sighed. "I tried so hard to be."

"Do you think Kurt wants that?" I asked. "I think he just wants you, all your imperfections and everything."

"I appreciate that thought, but I don't think so." His eyes looked like they were crafted from glass. "He's got the hold on the 'perfectly imperfect' thing. I'm just the perfect boy from the perfect private school that swept him off his feet, and that's all I ever was."

I had to keep myself from nodding, but also from moisture creeping out of my eye. I understood so well, and that's why I wanted to nod along, but it was that understanding that was also making me want to cry too. "Is that really all you think of yourself, Blaine?"

"I think that's all he ever thought of me," he said, bringing a hand up to wipe his right eye. "I know you see it differently, but I really thought we were meant to be. But I was stupid to try to uphold this for so long. He can't see me as perfect for an entire relationship. That's unrealistic."

"Did you never let him see the real sides of you?"

"Of course I did!" he answered, looking marginally offended. "We…" his cheeks reddened. "Well, we did things that are more intimate than you should know."

I coughed.

"But that was hard for me," he continued, the red rims of his eyes tearing me apart inside. "I guess I didn't make it seem like it was hard for me… but it really was. I threw myself at him once, but he wouldn't have it, of course, because well, I was drunk, and it was inappropriate and not at all like me, but… I wanted it, and I was so tired of not getting things that I wanted."

I could feel my cheeks reddening as well. "Well, uh… well then…I…"

"I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," Blaine said immediately, his hands flying up in front of him. "I'm so sorry, I'll stop, I just… I miss that too. I was so ready to finally have something, you know? But I don't deserve it. I don't deserve anything anymore! Not him, not this part in the school play, not my happiness, not _anything!_"

Blaine started openly crying, and I passed him a box of tissues. "Oh my god. Blaine, don't cry. Please, don't cry."

"Am I annoying you too, Ms. Pillsbury?" he asked, taking a tissue and violently wiping his eyes. "I'm so sorry, I'll go." He started to get up and walk out the door, but I quickly got out of my chair and walked to stop him.

"No please. Blaine." I hesitantly reached out to grab his arm. "I don't think you're ready to be done here."

He smiled, feebly, weakly, one I knew would fall off his face as soon as I turned around. So I didn't. "Tell me, Blaine, because I _care_." I made sure to make direct eye contact. The fragility webbed through his gaze made me feel like if I didn't tell him this now, he would break. "I really really care, okay? I think you need someone to tell you that, and I think you need someone to tell you that that means it. I really care, and I don't like seeing you sad, so please don't be afraid to talk to me."

Blaine looked at me gratefully, and his arms seemed to twitch. He looked as if he wanted to hug me, but was trying to respect my personal boundaries. I laughed, because he was so considerate and polite and nice and he didn't deserve what he was doing to himself.

His face looked slightly insulted.

"No, no, no, I wasn't laughing at you! I'm sorry, I just-" I reached out gingerly to pull him out into a hug. He held on tight, and I could tell that this was the way he used to hug Kurt. All encompassing, pouring his entire soul into his arms. I wanted to be able to reciprocate that trusting touch, but I couldn't make myself. I squeezed back lightly, and he released me, looking as if he understood why I couldn't hug him like he hugged me, but also looking like he didn't care. The sincerity in his eyes fought through my defense systems, and I felt the moisture in my eyes finally spilling over. I hastily grabbed a tissue.

"You have no idea what that meant to me, really," he said, his voice husky from tears. "I… you have no idea what that meant to me."

"I want you to listen to me, Blaine," I said, still not breaking eye contact. "I know you're taking this break up hard, and that's okay, but never feel alone. I don't know how much support you have while this is going on, but I'll always be here to talk if you need to. I…" I bit my lip, because I knew I wasn't supposed to say what I was about to. But looking at this shell of Blaine, I knew I had to. "I don't think you've been taken care of properly by your friends or family. If they won't listen, let me function as them. You look like you're really broken right now, and I'm only saying this with your best interest at heart. I can see it from a mile away, that something has broken in you. And if no one else sees it, just know that I do! Maybe the recognition is all you need. Maybe all you need to know is that someone is rooting for you to come back around. If they aren't, I _am_, and I need you to remember that."

A small smile crept up his mouth. "I will, I promise."

He got up to leave, and I almost wanted to hold him back again, because he still looked so small and sad. Yet he seemed to stand a little taller, and I didn't see the weight of Kurt crushing him quite as much as it had been when he walked in. "Thank you so much."

I clasped my hands together. "Yay, good session! Yes, that's good. Definitely good."

He laughed, and the genuine sound of it made my spirits soar. Then he walked out, closing the door quietly behind him, and I sat a little straighter at my desk.

I knew he had it in him to fight this, and I was immensely looking forward to the day that he came into my room with that goofy smile glued to his face and a bowtie rested around his neck.

I knew he had it in him, and I prayed that he knew he had it in himself.


End file.
